


better to have died

by writingramblr



Category: Dunkirk (2017)
Genre: Angst, Heavy Angst, Introspection, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Post-Movie(s), Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-12
Updated: 2017-08-12
Packaged: 2018-12-14 15:31:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11786088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingramblr/pseuds/writingramblr
Summary: the absence is worse than the loss.[Collins' musings about his fallen fellow pilot.]





	better to have died

**Author's Note:**

> this is... idk what this is.
> 
> i love these flyboys and i want the world for them.

The night wind is like ice against him, slapping his cheek in a way that Farrier’s hands never would. He’s gone gone gone.

Downed in enemy territory, and Collins got to read the first draft of the letter they’re going to send his sister and his mother. His father died of sorrow about three days back, seeing how many were lost at Dunkirk, and all Collins can think is, he wishes it had been him.

He would have done just about anything to flip the roles, to save his best friend, his brother in arms from the cold grip of the German prisoner of war camps. He knows the stories and the rumors, that pilots are treated better, that they may even be kind to him, and let him fly for them. Farrier won’t do it. He’ll die first before helping the enemy.

Collins knows, because he  _ told _ him, late one night, pressed closer than packed sardines, breathing each other’s skin, the last chance they had. Though they hadn’t known. How could they have known?

They took off for that great crystal clear blue beyond, and never would meet again.

He closes his eyes, hides from the silver moon for a long moment, and his tears kiss cold down his face. He smells smoke from a fire burning in the grate next door to his new home, and he pretends its a cigar, and Farrier’s just upwind, about to take it from between his lips and laugh in his normal way, two fingers into a bottle of whiskey, or perhaps rasp out Collins name like he does when they’ve kissed each other breathless.

None of it matters now.

The end is of the war is nigh, and with it, Collins’ final spark of happiness.

This, he thinks, this is worse than death. Living on, and living alone.

There’s a symmetry to it. Farrier took him under his wing, protected him and looked out for him, and in a way, Collins tried to do the same. He spent every second they had alone making it up to him, worshipping him and telling him the words he should have kept to himself.

Farrier smiled at his confessions of love, and his hopeful smiles, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes only making him more handsome in Collins’ eyes.

“We’ll have coffee someday, irish, in a cafe in New York. It’ll be great. You can take me to the top of the-”

He’d interrupted him with a kiss, and that had been that. They had each other.

Their first night was fervent, frantic and a bit rough for his taste, with a rare vial of olive oil paving the way for Collins to ease himself open, and let Farrier take him, drive into with an urgency that belied his own unspoken need. He’d never thought he could cling so hard to something that his knuckles would ache, but there it was.

“God, I can’t believe you’re real. You’re so fucking warm, so sweet.”

That had been the man’s first words beyond a gruff hello and mission report and relaying of weather patterns, and Collins cried when he came, shattering under the rough palms gripping his back, hips stuttering against him, a low seated need finally being filled as Farrier’s own cock spilled into him.

“Christ almighty.”

He caught a breath after, and tried to pretend like he didn’t feel a million different ways of ruined, wrecked beyond repair. Farrier went back to silence, and Collins merely had to guess at his thoughts.

 

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

 

“He’s on me.” Surely he knew, surely he could hear, panic lacing every inch of every syllable.

  
  


_ “And I’m on him.” He did. He does. _

_ He wishes he didn’t have to lie, but it was for Collins’ own good. _

  
  


The radio cut out when he landed, but he saw Farrier fly off, a straight line, and barely a tip to his wings. 

He was fine.

He’d be fine.

 

He wasn’t.

  
  



End file.
